


Guts

by epkitty



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: First Time, Halloween, M/M, Questionable choice of lubricant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Grissom is injured, the team take turns nursemaiding, and Greg takes advantage. Grissom is not exactly unwilling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guts

**Author's Note:**

> I like to pair this story with the poem "The Ghost of Beauty (promenading in Hyde Park)" by Alexander Pope.

“Well,” Catherine said, with one last stir to her coffee, “My shift’s almost up.” She smiled at the invalid, who frowned back at her. “Oh come on, Gil, I’m just teasing.” She grinned. “I like spending time with you.”

“Who’s coming tomorrow?” he asked.

“I think it’s Greg’s turn.” She sipped the rich, dark coffee to hide her smile.

“Why are you grinning?”

Catherine glared. “How can you tell I’m grinning?”

“Your eyes.” Gil adjusted his position on the couch and sucked in a breath.

“If you don’t have to move,” Catherine sighed without sympathy, “then don’t.”

“You know,” Gil huffed out, “I could do without the criticism.”

Catherine held up her hands defensively and sipped at the coffee. “Well, I’ve got to pick up Lindsay from school. What can I do for you before I take off?”

“Finish your coffee and wash the cup. You’ve done everything else that could conceivably need doing.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Catherine sighed, checking her watch. She drained the last of her drink and left the mug drying in the rack. “Have a Happy Halloween, Gil,” she said with a wink before letting herself out of the condo.

Gil, reclining on the couch, his leg elevated, watched the door click shut.

He found the sudden silence unnerving.

= = = = =

Fuzzily, Grissom rose up from dreary sleep to the rat-a-tat pelting on the door. “Hey Griss!” Greg chirruped as he let himself in with the key. “Happy Halloween!”

Still muzzy, Grissom blinked at the distant clock. “Aren’t you a bit early, Greg?”

Letting an armload of heavy canvas bags sink onto the floor, Greg glanced at the digital display. “Oh, well, a bit. Did I wake you up?”

Grissom gave a sharp nod. “Yes, Greg.”

“Sorry, but… I brought some fun stuff for us to do!”

Considering that Greg’s concepts of fun ran the gamut from coins and surfing to porn and punk rock, Grissom only frowned and waited.

From the nearest bag, Greg bent over to pull out a pumpkin. “Did you carve jack-o’-lanterns when you were a kid?”

Grissom slowly nodded. “A long time ago.”

“Oh, that goes without saying,” Greg agreed, a sly look in his eye.

“I’m not sure—”

“Well, you certainly don’t have to; I could do a demonstration,” Greg suggested, laying out a swath of newspapers on the low coffee table. He placed the pumpkin in the middle and an array of tools all in a row, like a surgeon. “What’s your poison? Scary faces, moonlit places… ghouls, ghosts, goblins?”

Grissom lifted a hand in bewildered indifference.

Kneeling on the floor, Greg took up a serrated knife and slid it cunningly into the orange flesh. “First, we need a hole, so…” he grunted as he sawed a neat circle round the stem, “might as well make the lid.” With a wet squelch, Greg lifted, twisted, and pulled the top away, wet strings and seeds dangling. With a plop, it landed on the newspaper.

Grissom winced at every sound of potential mess.

Greg only grinned his Cheshire Cat smile and dug in his bare hands to scoop out the innards. “Then, we’ve gotta get the guts out!” he lectured, enthusiasm obvious in his heightened tones as handfuls of the orange squash and its giant seeds were dumped unceremoniously in a gelatinous pile. Greg shivered and grinned self-consciously at his audience. “Cold,” he said with a laugh.

Caught by the mischievous smile and bright eyes, Grissom watched and listened attentively.

“Then we take a sharp spoon,” Greg lectured, not pausing to wash or even wipe his hands, but sliding slick fingers around the metal handle of the serving spoon and digging it into the interior wall of the pumpkin. “Scraping it clean makes everything so much easier,” Greg said with a wolfish grin.

Long-fingered hands dumped new scrapings into the pile, the pale slivers of harder flesh on top.

Grissom tilted his head, pondering – perhaps – how much caffeine the young man had ingested before banging down his door.

Rooting around in the depths of the great orange globe, Greg shoveled one last handful out onto the newspaper with a triumphant grin.

Grissom humphed.

“What?”

“We don’t need a jack’o’lantern. You look just like one.”

Greg threw back his head and crowed a single ‘ha!’ “This one needs a wicked smile,” he decided, jabbing a sharp, thin knife into the orange wall.

Grissom leaned forward. “Aren’t you going to plan first?”

“Nah. Lacks… creativity.” He sawed vigorously, waggling the knife up and down and all around as he traced a gruesome mouth.

Leaning to one side, Grissom strained his neck, trying to see the face taking shape, but the only grin he could see was Greg’s.

“How’s your leg?” Greg asked abruptly, something much darker than whimsy shading his tone.

“Good enough to hobble about on,” Grissom graced him with an answer.

Greg nodded. “More than ready to head back to work then.”

“You could say that.” Grissom, obviously, was beyond ready. His fingers itched for something to do.

Still sawing away, this time at the eyes, Greg said, “Everyone misses you. Especially me.”

Grissom cocked his head. “But you’re right here.”

The corners of Greg’s mouth turned up, but it was not a smile. “Not close enough,” he said, a fire in his eyes.

“…Greg?”

“Do you remember when you infected me with mildew? All I could think at the time was that strip forensics sounded like a pretty good idea to me.” Greg stood and stripped off his jacket, letting it puddle to the floor behind him, smears of pumpkin residue left in long slimy streaks across the navy polyester.

“Greg?” Grissom asked again, something fearful and alert in the question this time.

“Catherine told me I didn’t have the guts,” he said. “I guess that just spurred me on.” When he settled himself on the floor, he gently pushed aside Grissom’s good knee so that he could kneel like a Catholic at prayer between those stocky, bowed legs. His head lowered in reverence, dark lashes shielding bright eyes, Greg reached out to Grissom’s fly. His long fingers glistened in the lamplight. He chanced a glance up, expression hopeful and finally sweet, no longer alight with maniac glee, but needy and a little bashful. “Is this…?”

“Greg.” Grissom closed his eyes, as though to withdraw from the world.

“When I saw the suspect’s…” Greg began. “When the gun—I…” He sighed. “So much came clear to me.”

“And,” Grissom said, “I’ve had a lot to think about, too. But, we could… take it slow.”

“What, like normal people?” Greg laughed. “We’ve been – Catherine’s called it dancing – around each other for two months. That’s slow enough. And what happened in the parking garage…” His eyes lit up once more with the fire. “No more dancing, waiting, or thinking. Just… guts.” He flicked open the button and drew down the zipper, slippery hands easing the erection over the band of white briefs.

Grissom let out a sound between a shriek and a moan. “Your hands are freezing,” he accused in a whisper.

Greg laughed as he whipped off his own shirt and flung it to the floor. He leaned in, laying a wet finger to Grissom’s cheek, kissing him for the first time. His other hand circled Grissom’s cock firmly, stroked slowly.

The kiss persisted, hot and hurrying, and Grissom suddenly wondered where Greg’s hands were, because they weren’t touching him… and they _needed_ to be touching him…

Grissom recognized the clank of a loose belt buckle and pulled away to see Greg kicking away his jeans and boxers. He stood naked and pale and quivering.

For an absurd moment, the only thing Grissom could think of was Greg’s shoes and what had happened to them.

The moment broke when Greg knelt again and Grissom reached for him for the first time, both hands touching spiky hair, hot earlobes, willowy shoulders, wiry arms. He cupped the back of Greg’s neck to bring him forward in another kiss, and his blunt fingers played with the soft hair there.

Greg’s hands busied themselves in their usual peptic frenzy, growing now to something hotter, wetter, and more urgent as he coaxed heavy breathing and the most beautiful noises from Grissom’s throat.

Grissom’s firm and steady fingers smoothed toward Greg’s face, like a blind man learning something new, and he found wetness on high Scandinavian cheekbones. Pulling away, Grissom’s deep-seeing eyes opened wide. “What’s this, Greg?”

Greg tried not to sob as he leaned into Grissom’s barrel chest. “Almost lost you s’all,” he murmured against the stubbled neck. Fingers smelling like pumpkin slid in to pop the buttons from their holes one by one, baring skin and the curling hair there. He mouthed at the heat, leaving slug trails of saliva in his wake. “Can’t lose you, s’all…” He let out one betraying sob and then jerked his head back up to show a smile through the tears. “Silly me.”

“No,” Grissom told him, lifting a hand to kiss the cold and sticky fingers. “Not silly. Just… human.”

“That’s why I…” Greg caught himself and shrugged, surging forward for another kiss, openmouthed, sloppy, with the remnants of raw pumpkin on eager tongues. Greg pulled away to distract Grissom with an evil grin and say, “I brought condoms.”

“How very forward of you.”

“Can I…”

“Yes.”

Greg slipped away; Grissom felt abruptly cold.

Greg and his hot energy returned, opening the little packet with difficulty. His cold, slippery fingers found the latex, pinched the tip, rolled it down Grissom’s engorged shaft.

The man let out a hiss of pleasure, “Yesss…”

With manipulation worthy of a pickpocket, Greg slid a pillow to the arm of the couch and persuaded Grissom to lean back on it.

He hissed as his bad leg was jostled, but by the time the pain was gone, Greg was straddling him, one knee wedged into the crease of the couch, the other foot balanced on the floor, and Grissom was panting with want.

Greg smiled as he stretched a hand into the pumpkin’s gooey innards. “Forgot the lube,” he said sheepishly, reaching around to slip a finger into himself.

“Fuck,” Grissom moaned, unable to see the sight.

Laughing now, Greg moved his hips in lascivious little circles as he slipped long fingers in and out of his own body. “All right,” he said to himself, stopping abruptly. He held Grissom’s cock again, guiding the blunt head to the entrance of his body as he slowly sank downward. “Ah! Burns…”

They crooned and whined to one another as Greg impaled himself with devastating slowness. Once his descent was complete, Greg hung his head, his shoulders and legs trembling with the strain of keeping himself still. He let go his death grip on the back of the couch and reached out to Grissom’s strong arms.

They clutched at one another as Greg began his deliberate undulations, shallow and unsure as he adjusted to the foreign intruder.

They swayed together on the couch, hands groping and hot, eyes never wavering from one another as their faces were stricken with awe and hunger.

Their pace escalated with mutual consent, Greg grinning wildly as he lifted himself higher and higher, Grissom’s hands sliding to the lean hips to encourage the frenzy.

When Greg threw his head back and yelped in short little ‘ah’s of divine pleasure, Grissom reached for Greg’s tumescent cock, leaking drops of precum and straining for relief.

“Oh, please!”

Grissom showed mercy, pumping hard and fast.

Shocked, Greg bawled, “Grissom!” and bounced hectically until his entire body tensed and the orgasm washed through him in waves.

The sight was beautiful, but that ass clenching impossibly tight around his cock was the most intense thing Grissom had experienced in years and he came with huffs and grunts as Greg fell gently atop him, saliva-wet lips begging another kiss.

= = = = =

Greg and Grissom snuggled together on the couch under a plush blanket. Several smiling jack-o’-lanterns and the glow of the TV lit the room as they lazily fed one another popcorn warm from the microwave.

“So, are we a ‘thing,’ now?” Greg asked.

“A ‘thing,’ Greg?”

Greg shrugged. “Catherine’s gonna ask.”

“Well, you tell her whatever you think you need to.”

“That, uh, that really doesn’t answer my question.”

Grissom smiled and kissed the spiky head of hair. “Well. It looks like we’re together right now.”

“Yeah?” Greg asked, looking up.

“Yes, Greg.”

“I love you. Thought I oughta say that.”

“Greg,” Grissom smiled like a person who only just realized something very important. “I love you, too.”

= = = = =

The End


End file.
